Title: Coffee Maker Catastrophes
Author: Claire "The Coffee Guru" Doyle
Rating: PG-13 for bad words
Keywords: Humor, Mulder/Scully Friendship, Coffee
Disclaimer: I refuse to relinquish my claim upon Mulder and Scully. It
probably has a lot to do with the fact that I have veins infused with
caffeine which causes the rational side of my brain to shut down. I'll
give them back after CC gives me coffee. Starbuck's belongs to itself.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to any and everyone who has a
caffeine addiction. They will understand this story more than most. Oh,
and to the coffee houses that feed our addictions, you are temples at
which I worship daily. *cue Gregorian chant*
Distribution: Any and everywhere, just let me know.
Feedback: Gimme. I will also accept coffee beans. Flames will be used to
keep my coffee warm. chiara_16@hotmail.com
On with the show.
Coffee Maker Catastrophes
It was a typical day in the office of the X-Files, when a most
unexpected event happened.
It was an event almost beyond description. If it was completely beyond
description, then there would be no point in writing this story and
everyone could go home happy. But no, this event could be described.
On that particular day, in that particular office, the coffee maker broke.
Normally this wouldn't have been a problem; in any other division of the
FBI, a replacement coffee maker would have been shipped down in less than
twenty four hours. But this was the X-Files, and it was far from normal
in the basement. I can feel the confusion emanating from you.
Let me relate the tale as it happened.
On that morning, as usual, the agent known as Dana Scully approached the
Mr. Coffee as she had every morning for the past six years. She was the
one who always made the coffee; the one time her partner, known as Fox
Mulder to the annals of time, attempted to, the coffee pot overflowed
and the liquid was so strong that it melted the varnish off of the
counter top. So today, as always, she measured out the correct amount
of grounds that would give the coffee the right kick without
disintegrating stomach lining, filled the pot with the right amount of
water, which was right up to the metal line, as they both liked their
coffee, poured it into the machine, careful not to spill any, and hit
the 'On' switch. Nothing happened.
The agent, being the thorough-minded person she was, checked to make
sure the maker was plugged in, the fuse was good, and the machine had
really been turned on. When there was still no response from the little
black machine, she sighed, already missing her daily cup of brown liquid
gold, shrugged, and headed to the phone to call maintenance. Two rings
later, they picked up. "Yeah?" the gruff worker sitting in the chair in
the office grunted. He was taking his normal break with his cup of coffee
and didn't like to be disturbed.
"Hello, this is Special Agent Dana Scully in the X-Files division. Our
coffee maker seems to have died this morning, and I'm calling to ask for a
replacement." Scully said this politely, for she knew it was much more
beneficial to be nice to the men who cleaned your toilets than not.
Polite was not a word in this particular man's vocabulary, however. "You
want another coffee maker? Sorry, that's not in my job description." In
actuality, there were four new coffee makers sitting in the corner of his
office, but he wasn't going to waste some perfectly good cash he could
make easily and illegally just to satisfy a cushy Fed. "Take it up with
Accounting. Besides, I got my orders not to give you guys nothing no more.
You go through stuff faster than dried fruit through a nursing home
resident." With that unpleasant simile, the man hung up.
"Damn," Scully said, removing her polite veneer and cursing the phone's
receiver. She laid it back in its cradle harder than usual. "Now what the
hell am I supposed to do?"
At that very moment, Dana Scully's perpetually late partner, Agent Mulder,
chose to arrive at the door to his office. Immediately he noticed the
absence of the aroma of coffee which had greeted him almost every day,
except for those when Scully had been, shall we say, missing in action.
He looked quickly to make sure that she was, indeed, present, and then,
skipping the normal formalities, asked, "Why isn't there any coffee? Are
we out?"
Already he was putting his coat back on to run out to the store and pick
up some.
"No. The Bureau at least keeps us well-stocked in that respect. The maker's
made its final pot."
"Ah, should we hold a memorial service? It's served us well these many
years." Mulder grinned. "When's the new one coming in?" He knew instinctively
that she had called to get a new one delivered to their office immediately.
"Never, it seems." She waited for the look of confusion to appear on his
face, and then proceeded. "Maintenance said that I had to call Accounting
to see if we could get another one.
He also said that he was instructed not to send us any more supplies
period, because of our casualty rate, so to speak."
"That seems peculiar. Did you call Accounting?"
"No, I was going to just as you walked in. Do you want to talk to them?"
"Not particularly, but I'm guessing that was your way of saying it's my
turn, right?"
In the Accounting office there was a filing system to rival the X-Files.
Every agent, and every division had a manila folder. No one had more than
that, no one needed one. Except for one man. He was the talk of the town
in the office, five stuffed to the brim folders and counting.
They were about to give him his own drawer. That man was none other than,
"Fox Mulder, X-Files division. I need to request a coffee maker replacement
from you."
Dick Darcy, the unlucky accountant who had picked up the phone that day,
almost had a heart attack. Him, oh, God, He called. "Umm, Agent Mulder, can
you hold on for a second?"
Mulder agreed, and Darcy pushed the little button. Then he made his
announcement.
"Everyone, hey, guys, listen up!" Dick, being somewhat vertically
challenged, had climbed onto his desk, and was waving his arms up and down.
That happened to get the number crunchers' attention.
"What's up, Dick?" asked Mary O'Neill, who worked in the cubicle next door.
"It's Him! He's on the phone!"
"Oh, God. . . you're kidding. . . He's real. . ." were the murmurs that
floated through the hall.
"Yes, He's real, and He just asked for a coffee maker." The members of
Accounting flocked over to Darcy's desk, eager to hear the voice of the man
who was considered a legend among expense accounts.
"Do you remember the time we were sent the bill for the cell phone that
fell off the top of a train?"
"What about the car that got hit by one?"
"Not to mention the snowmobile He rented."
"Well, what should I do?"
"Well. . .put Him on the speaker phone so that we can all hear Him."
Quickly, he did just that, only instead of pressing the conference button,
poor Dick Darcy, who would from that day on be known as Dirty Dick to his
fellow workers, until he committed suicide by choking himself with a phone
cord at the age of forty five, hung up on Fox Mulder.
Mulder, oblivious to the happenings above him heard only the click of
the phone.
"Hello? Hello?" For the second time that day, the receiver returned to
its home with its user unsuccessful in their attempts to communicate. "This
is getting strange, Scully."
"Don't you dare start coming up with some bizarre reason this is happening,
Mulder. It's a coincidence. Maybe the guy in Accounting got so nervous
talking to you that he hung up the phone accidentally."
"Why the hell would he be nervous talking to me? I don't even know
anyone up there."
"With your expense accounts, you're probably a legend. Who knows, you
may have your own drawer in there." Scully grinned at what she thought
was a joke, never realizing how close she had come to the truth.
Mulder just gave her a doubtful look. "Well, we still don't have a
coffee pot, and I need my coffee."
"You're one to talk. I've lived off of the stuff since I was twelve."
Scully was already starting to feel the effects of the caffeine
deficiency in her body. Irritability was her first stage.
"I specifically don't have any coffee at home so that I don't get an
overdose, and the damn coffee maker at work breaks. I can't function
without the damn thing."
"God, I've always had a cup a day since Samantha left, and now I can't
today. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do." Depression was the
first sign of Mulder's withdrawal. He went to his desk and slumped down
in his chair.
"Oh, God, Mulder, I had my first cup of coffee with my father. It was
one of the few moments we shared that were really special." Ennui was next.
"Why the hell did you mess with the coffee maker, Scully? Now I can't
perform correctly, and my daily routine has gone out the window." Anger.
"It's not my fault, the damn thing just broke. Why do you always blame
me for your problems, Mulder?" Defensiveness.
"I'm sorry, Scully, I just can't seem to do anything right. I should
just leave now, and never come back." Self-pity.
"No, Mulder, it's probably not really broken." Denial. Scully walked
back over to the machine that was causing the emotional turmoil. She
played with the switches, once, twice, plugged it in again, stared at
it a moment, and then began to beat it mercilessly, almost knocking
it on the floor before Mulder came back to reality and saw what she was
doing. Frustration.
He stood and ran over to her, refusing to look at the offensive object,
instead grabbing his partner's arms. "Scully, come on, cut it out. It
didn't do anything to you. We have to stop blaming inanimate objects and
dead people for our problems. The coffee maker's broken, and we just have
to let it go." Acceptance. "Are you going to be okay?"
Scully nodded. "Yeah. But I really need a cup of coffee." She suddenly
clung to Mulder, and said in a small voice. "Oh, God, I lost control,
Mulder. I've never done that before." Fear. In the mind of a rationalist,
it is harder for one to accept truth until all aspects have been covered,
included coping mechanisms.
"Shh, it'll be okay, Scully. We'll get through this. We've had the
X-Files taken from us, and both of us have nearly died on more than one
occasion, and we can get through this catastrophe, too." Though the coffee
maker had left them, Mulder knew that the two of them would succeed in the
future, despite mechanical malfunctions.
"You're right. We can't let technology destroy our friendship Mulder.
We're all we have, now that it," she said, looking at the dead object, "has
left us as well. Trust no one."
Scully smiled a little, and stepped out of his embrace. "Let's go to
Starbuck's and get something to drink."
"A wonderful idea. Oh, and Scully?"
"Yes?"
"You're beautiful when you're beating an inanimate object."
"Shut up, Mulder." The partners, reunited despite their small foray into
a twilight zone of terror and insecurity, headed out of the door, and out
to face the world, a little wiser for their troubles, but not letting the
world beat them. Their caffeine addiction would prevail.
A moment after they left, a shady character entered their office. Every
minute of the conversation had been recorded and listened to. "Those
bastards. Nothing seems to stand in their way. I'll have to keep trying.
They will not succeed in the end."
The figure reached behind the coffee maker, readjusting the loose wires
it had toyed with the night before. "They can have their coffee, but I
will have their office, and then the world." Diana Fowley pushed the
machine back against the wall, and left, locking the door behind her.
The End.